Racine High School - Kipikawi Yearbook (Racine, WI)

Page 90 text:

'Vllllll :n 'h llT ' ' z i t rf z z r io i r l nlln:rilI'l ' 'l'l 5 lin iwlf11i11 'a l L' W ii il, l. ling ll...llllllvlllillllllllllll Tomorrow dawns, or, rather, grows slightly lighter than the night before. It is raining. By the Greek Pantheon, how it is rainingl I gaze remorsefully on the window. Queerly enough, thoughts of Noah's Ark and the Eighteenth Amend- ment predominate. Listless, all hope abandoned, I drag myself to school. In the study-period I begin painfully to scrape a theme to- gether. Other joys of theme writing ap- pear. This type is physical, or mechan- ical. Itconsists ofcharming sediment in the inkwell, fascinating blots on the paper, a hilariously bent pen, and other enchanting possibilities. An unclassified joy is the cheerful idiot seated near, who not only keeps up a running conversa- tion, but also, destitute of school- supplies, insists on borrowing. At last, with fear and trembling, I hand in the laboriously constructed document. Then I await approval or adverse criticism. Ah, woe is mel for man as the poet, or the plumber, or the bartender, has said, is ever doomed to disappointment. Why, the teacher exclaims, this theme reads like the vagaries of a rarebit fiend. That is, absolutely, the last straw. Hair awry, clothing disheveled, reason tottering, I slip away. I'm Bill Shakespeare, I shriek, I'm Wally Scott, I'm -U Crazy is right, says the handsome guard with Gatliff on his cap, this is about the worst case we've had. Walk right in, my lord. - Arthur Kidder. '24 The ibearl The man at the table hung his head. Outside, the wind whirled the snow about the attic window, causing it to sift in the cracks left by an ill-fitting shutter. A deathly silence filled the roomg not even the ticking of a clock broke the stillness. The lone figure sat unmoved. In the distance, on the Boulevard Saint Michel, a bell chimed. It was midnight. Slowly the man raised his head, slowly he glanced about the room, slowly he contemplated the delicate scientific instruments scattered on the table-the frail, expensive bits for whose sake he had gone hungry and cold-the intricate tools which held the key to his past as well as his future. His gaze wandered about the big barren garret room - only a bit of bread there in the unpainted cupboard, only a broken chair away off there in the corner, only the tattered remnant of what had once been a shade on the window. Again his eyes came back to the table, seeking, seeking. Ah, there it was. Slowly, marveling, he picked it up with a look of awe in his face, that look of a heathen worshipping Baal- an Oriental at the shrine of a green goddess - a Christian at the spot where Christ was crucified. Slowly he watched the candle light play upon it- the beautiful pearl to which he had dedicated his life. Would it ever repay him? It did not seem possible now that his hope was gone from him. Perhaps it was not worth it, to seek for years to develop in a beautiful pearl the rain- bow lights of the sunset, to endure hunger, and cold, and thirst, and to deny oneself love 4 Lovel That was itl That was what he had missed the most through the years. His mind went back to the long ago- to that summer's night when he had walked with Marguerite on the sea-shore. He remembered now what a beautiful night it had been, he remem- bered the white sand, the lapping waters, the moon shining in a silver pathway across the waves, and the gleaming bubble on the shore. He had been telling Marguerite of his love for her. She knew it, to be sure, but how sweet it was to listen. He had been speaking of an undying passion, when his eyes, leaving the lovely face at his side, were attracted by the bright gleam on the sands. He had stopped, - queer, how it should seem like yesterday, - he had left her, he had fondled and exclaimed over the beautiful pearl in his hand, he had been seized with the great idea, his great ambition, and the girl by his side, mis- understanding the soul of the scientist, thinking only of how he had abandoned

Page 89 text:

'1la1ag2g1EZ, ki' lllllll' ll!! ll I llttlllflilltlil'i 'lllllll.lllttllll nm llllllllllllllllll In llnn -::f g5:g,.,t ,.1,1gg 5,.,2 EE. lllllll i llllllllllll i iilmiiiluilnllllllglllllillllltsszzsz The kipikatni I think that you will never see An annual like the Kipifeawi. A book within whose leaves are pressed Some literature of the high school's best. A book that you will keep always, Upon whose pages mem'ry plays. A book with art and writing rare. With which no other can compare. Within whose pages genius lives, - A book which slams and bouquets gives. Others have tried, but with luck blest This book of ours is far the best. tApologies to Ioyce Kilmer . . taken from TTKEJJ - Pear! W1'chfrn, '23, 3Iups uf Ulibeme writing Lightly the carefree feet of the high school students trip along the path of knowledge. Ioyfully they pursue the rose strewn path, then, of a sudden, the path becomes beset with thorns. Hear, children, the clarion tones of the tyrannical teacher of English re- sound throughout the room, on the morrow you will bring to class a neat, well-written theme. We gaze at one another apprehen- sively. Fear enters our hearts. Gloom descends like a cloud. Then indeed is there wailing and gnashing of teeth. Greater and greater becomes our misery, I am about to give up hope, then, a ray of light in the darkness, Infpiration arrives. The Calfulating Coroanul Honor the cocoanutf' this I hastily jot down, for his strength, his food- value, and his ability to keep a secret. Where, my friends, can you find another paragon equal to the doughty nut? Beneath his shaggy exterior is the rich, sound, nutritious meat. Alas, this model of virute has not the slim, aesthetic grace of the indolent banana,yet, happily it is devoid of the malicious treachery of that same fruit. Who, I ask defiantly, has ever slipped on a cocoanut peel? The heartless teacher will not appre- ciate the joys and sorrows, the touching family life of the taciturn cocoanutf Say, that's poetryl Teachers, teachers, Heartless creatures. That is an excellent start, but that is all. In a short time the erring pen is deep in the intricacies of a wall-paper design. Gloom has returned with tripled vim and vigor. Iust as I am about to succumb to his deadly onslaught, inspir- ation again returns, this time bearing something modern and 'lsnappyf' The Maizdlzfn M3'Jtfr3' Qf Moonlfff Mary, I inscribe. Close to the western horizon a ruby light shone steadily, untlickeringly, send- ing forth the scarlet rays in all directions. Une of these rays sped toward the earth, and, on arriving, was swallowed by a huge telescope that protruded from a vast dome. Along the top of the tele- scope, and insulated from it, ran a rod of half radium and half aluminum. At the far end it was sharpened to a point, near the dome it was soldered to a piece of no. 14 copper wire. Within the dome sat a small man, his eye glued to the telescope. He was attired in a skull-cap of black silk. 'Ha, ha,' he chuckled, 'now I shall leavef On either side of him was a lofty coil of wire, each coil sur- mounted by a large brass ball. As the diminutive scientist pressed the key before him, the towering coils glowed faintly for a moment, then they were surrounded with weird, greenish-yellow coronas. The body of the scientist him- self was lit up by a strange, electrical radiance. A moment passed, then a huge arc formed between the two balls of brass. For a second the roaring pass- age of electricity continued, then all was silent. The whole incident had taken but a fraction of a minute, yet the man with the black skull-cap had van- ished completely, absolutely, and he had left that article in the seat of the chairlu That's altogether too deep, besides, I can't think of a suitable ending. I'll wait till tomorrow to write the theme.

Page 91 text:

'F nllll'.l'flIllnli.....m.--wx! rri f yggy ,.ea...za gm ll V-,,, rl il, lI 'll ll ll llllli ll ll ll 1'l'll lr t lll ll her for his new-found treasure, had wept. You love your work more than you love me. A globe from the sea-shore de- lights you more than l. You are wicked, cruel. Uncomprehending, still clutching his pearl, he gazed at her. You leave me, you moon over an insensible bit, you do not love me. Her anger was at white heat now. You think not of me, but only of what you can do for the world with your useless discoveries. Fool! Now you must chobse between me and your profes- sion. The words rushed out in blind fury, long since she had lost all track of what she had been saying. Still not taking in the situation, he fondled his new-found treasure. B-But I thought you said you l-loved mel he stammered. For an- swer, she gave him a burning glance, then swiftly turned and fled. Only the sea answered his call. She was gone. :lf bk Fl' Pk ak Fl' Pk Chobert, the scientist, recalled him- self with a start. The room was bit- terly cold. Stitfly he arose to get the tat- tered overcoat on the broken chair. Strange, it was not there. Ah, he re- membered now, it was worth but three francs, it was so frayed. Life was worth but little up here in the cold, no heat of any kind, confronted with the failure to which he had dedicated his happiness. Why should he not try the easier way -4 the rope on the rafters? There was no food, no heat, no money: he would perish soon. Why should he not end it now? He clutched at his pearl, still the same beautiful fragment he had found years before. Perhaps, it was worth one more chance, one more experiment. He would try. Slowly, with fingers numbed by the cold, he prepared the acid. With awk- ward movements he placed in position his instruments and his pearl. All was ready. With trembling hand he raised the phial of acid, raising his eyes to the window through which gray dawn was casting murky shadows, he prayed aloud for help from the Creator, then, slowly, he poured his solution over the pearl. :ac wk if :uc ff Pk ik if wk The fragments of his beautiful idol lay crushed upon the table. A purple haze hung over the room. A crystal of ethereal nothings seemed to arise, ex- panding. Slowly, the purple shades CIFCVV Clf7SCl , anil the head iff a Vvflfnan was revealed, beautiful in the glorious expression of her face, floating, elusive, tantalizing. Chobert extended his hands to clasp the dancing apparition. Marguerite, he murmured. As if a spell had been broken, the vision van- ished. Yet, once more the haze gathered to form a woman's head, this time that of a nun. Marguerite, you would not? Hoarse now with despair was his voice. Glorious dawn flooded the room. The first vision had displaced the second. Away in the distance, on the Boulevard Saint Michel, the bells chimed six. The night had gone. Slowly the lovely lips opened - they were speaking - CTO bf covztinued next yearj -Bmha 021, '22, Buss lit Rap? If you begin to study hard before it is too late, You end up on the honor roll, or else become sedate. But you never know the joy there is in 'passing by a hair,' Ur counting up your hours to see how much you have to spare, Or going out on evenings when youive work at home to do, Or trying when you're called on to get up and bluff it through. lt's great to have a lot of E's when all the grades are in, To feel that, if it's brains that count, you have a chance to win. But you're missing many pleasures and experiences too That you'll never have a chance at when your four years here are through. So you want to weigh up carefully your llFlS'Y KlG,SI' lfE'S,7l